


To Refashion

by raelee514



Series: To Refashion [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Season 5 Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:06:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9494828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raelee514/pseuds/raelee514
Summary: Jimmy's gone and Thomas finds himself alone.





	1. Chapter 1

“Mr. Barrow?” 

Irritation rushed through Thomas, making him tense. He just started ascending the stairs for his bedroom. Looking forward to shedding his livery, looking forward to shutting the door behind and closing out the rest of house. Mrs. Hughes was now an obstacle. 

“What is it, Mrs. Hughes?” he asked turning around.

“Well…” she motioned for him to follow her into her sitting room. Thomas sighed, loudly, in frustration and followed her. 

“It seems James left a few things in his room. I sent a few girls up to tidy it up. I believe what maybe a few items might belong to you.” She picked up a box from a nearby table. “If you’ll just look through it, and then I’ll throw out the rest, I suppose.”

He ripped the box out of her hands. He felt the force of it and nearly apologized for his roughness. But he looked down and was distracted by the glint of silver. It was his missing silver lighter. Jimmy stole it? 

He closed his eyes for a moment as if the action might hide his thoughts and remind him how to breathe. “I’ll get rid of whatever should be gotten rid of…” he informed Mrs. Hughes in a clipped tone. 

“As you see fit,” Mrs. Hughes said and dismissed him with a hand wave.

Thomas gripped he box to his chest. He rushed up the stairs. More determined to get to the sanctuary of his room. Two days ago Jimmy had left his life. He stood and watched Jimmy leave until he was no long in Thomas’s line of sight. It was final and he cried despite efforts not to. Once they tears stopped, or rather he forced himself to breathe again. He tried to push it aside. Not to dwell. He was gone, and their relationship was over. 

It was the end. 

But here was holding a box. It was awkward opening his bedroom door but he didn’t want to put it down. Not yet. He closed the door behind him with his body and leaned against it. Hands gripping the box too to tightly. He looked inside it again, eyes falling on his silver lighter. The one he held up years ago in France. His hand throbbed, as it always did when that moment relived itself in his mind. He stared at the lighter and remembered he’d told Jimmy his story. Let that slip out of mouth as if he was sharing his birthday. 

He gave away pieces of himself. He wondered if they could grow back or would they always be out there with Jimmy — never to be part of Thomas again. He been looking for the lighter for weeks, every time he complained about it to Jimmy the other man just smiled. He took it? Why? Thomas didn’t understand. He walked toward his bed. His grip tightened on the box before he was able to loosen his grip and place it on the bed. 

He started pulling off his livery. Unsure if he wanted to go through the box at all. Maybe he should just take out his lighter and have that be that. Toss the rest away. There was no reason to keep anything. The would never meet again. Thomas could never return any items to his friend. Jimmy wasn’t going to write, he’d said as much. It was for the best. Thomas reminded himself that it was the end. 

He stripped down his vest and his underwear and found himself sitting on the bed before the thought finished. He pulled out his lighter and lit it. He stared at the flame. Curiosity had him wondering again why Jimmy had taken it? Or maybe he’d found it and forgot to return it? Thomas shook his head. Wondering was pointless. He never get to ask him, or see the cocky expression that would probably flit against Jimmy’s fine features. 

Memories of Jimmy using the lighter to light cigarettes played in Thomas mind. Graceful fingers, quick and short motions. The only detail Thomas could remember vividly was Jimmy’s mouth. Full lips pressing down on the cigarette, and pulling smoke into his mouth. Watching it move, watching him smoke, laugh, smile and even frown. Thomas watched Jimmy’s mouth and dreamed. Dreamed of it kissing him. His mouth, his fingers, his wrist, his cock, his thighs…. It never went away. The want. The lust. The love. 

Thomas stood up and grabbed his cigarettes and lit them with the lighter. The end of their friendship was for the best. As much as Thomas clung to their relationship, like it was a lifeline, it’d been frustrating. There were days he struggled with simply looking at Jimmy, let along speak with him. There would be days they wouldn’t speak, or even look at the other, they both knew why. It was because Thomas might reach out and touch Jimmy if they stood too close. They never spoke about it. Jimmy never pulled away from him, or flinched when Thomas did touch him. They laughed and talked about Jimmy’s women — but a time or two they’d spoken about men Thomas knew. Thomas tried not wish Jimmy would get jealous. 

It was a dance they choreographed because friendship wasn’t easy when one was in love with the other. Somehow they never fell out of step. But Thomas felt hurt more than once, he felt angry and truly frustrated. He was full of yearning and he had the dream within grasp but could never take it in his hold. 

Thomas sat back down and studied the box. He reached in and just pulled out the first thing his fingers came into contact with. A gold watch. He flipped it over in his hands and read the engraving. _Robert James Kent._ Jimmy’s father. How had he forgotten this? He knew Jimmy had very little of his family. Nothing tangible to hold onto and he had cherished the watch. He hadn’t told Thomas that in so many words, Jimmy for all his ego wasn’t one who truly spoke about himself. But he’d told Thomas a few stories, some of the secrets he held inside. Thomas felt prideful, to have been trusted that way. 

He frowned at the watch. Jimmy would miss this, he thought and he rose up. Intent to keep it safe. He couldn’t return it but he could care for it. He opened a draw on the bottom of his bureau and pulled up the false bottom he fashioned. He lowered the watch inside. He stared down at it for a long beat before covering it up, and closing the drawer.

Back on the bed he reached in again and pulled out sheets of paper, music paper and he stared at it. Trying to place what was different about it than the sheet music Thomas saw downstairs by the piano. Soon it was clear, most of the papers were blank but a few of them had notes scribbled onto them by a human hand, with untidy written words underneath them. His eyes widened. Was Jimmy writing his own songs? He felt an odd punch of anger he hadn’t been told about it. It was a reminder, they weren’t all that close. Not really. Not as much as Thomas allowed himself to believe.

He thought about tossing the music. But he only crunched the empty music sheets into balls before tossing them into his waste bin. The songs, the songs went onto his nightstand. 

Thomas lit a second cigarette. He sat and smoked. Trying not think. Trying not wonder at the questions the box had running through his mind. He wondered if Jimmy realized he lost the watch? Would he write to him about it? Would that at least get Thomas an address? He shook his head. It wouldn’t happen. 

The end. Because Jimmy told him goodbye. With clear finality. But there was the box. Thomas smashed the cigarette out and lit another. Then he put his hand in the box again and pulled out a series of magazines. The last was the newest London Magazine that Thomas had bought a week ago. Jimmy stolen that too? Always said he wasn’t much for reading? Got bored. Yet…”thief.” Thomas smiled until the reality he couldn’t call Jimmy out on his actions came crashing down. 

He threw out the other two magazines and kept his on the bed. He put his hand in the box again. Fingers finding metal. He pulled out a set of cufflinks. Nothing special. Standard silver cufflinks. Jimmy wouldn’t miss these, he probably wouldn’t notice they were missing. Thomas thought briefly of tossing them in with his own pairs. It never hurt to have extras, just in case. Carson wanted everything perfect and proper at all times. But he dropped them onto Jimmy’s songs. He tipped the box toward him and looked inside. 

Empty.

That was that then. It was over again. This tiny little step back to having Jimmy in his life. He felt his eyes start to sting and clenched his jaw. He picked up the music and the cufflinks. He swiftly put them where he hidden away the watch. He closed the drawer. That was that. He blinked a few times, trying to chase away the stinging and he ignored the wetness. 

He went about his nightly routine. Got into his pajamas and scrubbed his face. He kept looking toward his bureau, he kept looking at the empty box. He moved onto his bed, putting the magazine on the table beside it and picking up his lighter. Jimmy crossing his mind, the question of why he stole it unable to leave his mind? He closed his eyes. Would he think of him every time he lit a cigarette? Was it fair to blame the object? He lit a cigarette and didn’t fight his gaze over to the bottom drawer of his bureau. The watch nagging at him — the hope it might bring Jimmy back to him. No matter how remote. 

If only he could stop feeling like this. Why did it have to hurt? He was always falling for people he could never have, because they weren’t like him. They were the men the world wanted. They wanted women and they didn’t find stubble and chest hair provocative. Thomas blinked more, wanting to stem off the sobbing he felt trying to rise up from his heart. 

He shook his head, smoked his cigarette and held the smoke in his lungs. Until he calmed down, as much as he could, he moved a shaky hand toward his ashtray and smashed out the cigarette. Still, he was too wound up to sleep. So he grabbed the magazine and started flipping through it. He had a specific story in mind to read. He flipped through the pages, eyes taking in pictures. Then he stopped short as four words in large black script caught his eyes.

  
** Choose Your Own Path **

He had seen the advertisement before. He had read the advertisement before. It was always a nagging a thought in the back of his head. Could he change it? Ignore it? Pretend it wasn’t there? But no, no. He was it. He always been it. 

Different. Not like other men. He was that sort. And he knew he wasn’t less than, he wasn’t less than anyone else because of it. He was different but not…. Foul. Mr. Carson word echoed in his head. 

No. Not _foul_. 

The thought process was always the same and it would end with him flipping past the page and he would forget the advertisement existed until he saw it again. He had his thumb and index finger ready. All he head to do was flip the page and it’d be gone and the questions nagging at him would go away again. His own voice louder and firmer in his mind. 

Jimmy surfaced in his head again. The pain of his loss rushing through Thomas. He felt a hole there. A hole. It was harder to ignore alone in his room — why had he forgotten that. If only he couldn’t feel it. 

His eyes went to the advertisement. He stared at it. Stared at the words. Thought for a minute there was a power to the word _Choose_. “No. No.” He threw the magazine across the room.


	2. Chapter 2

With a practiced motion Thomas sat down and pulled out his cigarettes and lighter. A cigarette slid between his fingers and he raised up his left hand and froze at the sight of his sliver lighter. 

_“Give me that, Mr. Barrow.” Amused smile on his face. Deft fingers brushed against his own as he deftly took the lighter from Thomas’ hold. Thumb stroking down, flame appearing, cigarette between full lips, a quick suck and its lit. “Good lighter that…” Jimmy winked._

His hand shook as he lit his cigarette. The memory felt too real. When was it a month ago, two? Was Jimmy plotting to steal it the whole time? He kept turing the lighter in his fingers, staring at it, wishing it could give him an answer. An answer he’ll never have, he’ll never know. He should be happy he got it back. Mad Jimmy took it…. That was a laugh, mad at Jimmy. He chuckled bitterly. 

“What’s that Mr. Barrow?”

Thomas eyes moved off the lighter, noticing for the first time Baxter was in the room. “It’s nothing that concerns you.”

She looked right at him for a moment, then looked down on the sewing she had in her hand. Thomas looked back down at the lighter in his hand. It was just a thing, it wasn’t more than it was used for. But it wasn’t and never had been. 

_“You’re quite protective of it, aren’t you?”_

_“What?”_

_“The lighter. Yank it back from me quick as you please.”_

_“Maybe I just don’t like to share.”_

_“With the rest of this lot, maybe… but me?” Jimmy grinned._

Another memory, short and quick, and vivid in his mind. He could practically see them. Leaning against the mantle, smoking and Jimmy teasing him about the lighter. 

_“I’ll get it out of you.”_

_“What’s that?”_

_“What’s so special about that lighter.”_

Thomas swallowed and he lit the lighter again. He held it up. He stared at the flame. _It got me out of the war_. He almost told Jimmy, almost let it slip — he’d wanted too. But he wasn’t daring enough to, too afraid it might send Jimmy away. Well, he was gone now. The chance would never arise again. He stared at the flame. Taking back to that night, in that trench, when he made the decision. The decision to use a light to tear him out of the darkness. 

“Better be careful with that Thomas, we’ve already had a fire,” Daisy said as she rushed into the room to pick things up off the table.

He put the flame out. He focused on smoking his cigarette. Watched Daisy clear the table with speed and efficiency. Too bad the couldn’t make her footman, he thought idly. That was something he tell Jimmy, the thought irritated the moment he thought it. Stop, stop, he told himself. Stop thinking about him. Stop thinking about what you didn’t say, or what you would say. He smashed out his cigarette. Pulled out another one and glared at his lighter as he used it to light another. 

“You must miss him,” Miss Baxter’s voice again. 

He looked at her. She had put the sewing down and was looking at him with what thought might be a concern. That angered him, who was she to pity him? Nothing. She seen to that by telling Lady Grantham her story. He was nearly sacked. 

“Jimmy,” she pressed. 

“I know who you meant. It’s none of your concern.”

She sighed. 

“She’s just being nice,” Daisy said as she left the room. 

“Miss Baxter knew what she needed to do to be nice to me,” he said, voice raised so it carried. His eyes moved to Baxter and she was back at her sewing. He leaned back in his chair, smoked his cigarette and stared at her. A threat on on his face, in his eyes. 

“Leave her alone, Mr. Barrow.”

Molesley had arrived. Perfect. Baxter’s oafish knight in shining armor. Here to defend her from Thomas. But he didn’t know the whole story, did he, Thomas smiled at him. 

“Leave it,” Miss Baxter said. 

Molesley shook his head. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Oh, she has done something wrong. Haven’t you, Miss Baxter.”

“Nothing worth what you’re doing to her, I’d say,” Molesley sputtered out. 

“If only you knew what she did… But she’s not going to tell you. Are you?”

Baxter looked between them and stood up. “I need to polish some shoes.” 

Thomas watched her walk away. 

“Leave her be,” Molesley said. “She doesn’t have to tell me.”

Thomas grinned at him, he felt feral. Molesley was his prey. Baxter never told Lady Grantham her story without his do-gooder pestering. Molesley nearly got him sacked — the two of them. The two of them with their burgeoning romance. It was disgusting. 

“I warn you, Mr. Barrow…” Molesley voice was shaking. 

“What?” Thomas laughed. “Wanna play her hero? How do you know she’s a damsel? You don’t know what she did.” 

“I don’t need to know.”

Thomas smashed out his cigarette. He kept his grin focused on Molesley and stood up. “Keep telling yourself that, Mr. Molesley.” 

“I will?” Molesley muttered. 

_No you won’t, you’re wondering, you’re questioning._ Thomas straightened his clothes and started back up the stairs. He would find a time tonight, to whisper the story into Molesley ear. Tell him of her thievery. The Holy Sin of service. It would hurt them. It would hurt their relationship. He wanted to see it in their eyes. 

~~~

_“Drab day this… but better than inside, stuck with Bates dour face.”_

Thomas lit his cigarette. It was Molesley’s face that driven him outside to find it damp and drizzling. It was the lighter that had Jimmy’s voice in his head, clear as bell, reminding him another day in time. It was barely a memory, it was sentence and the thought of rain. It hurt him all the same like someone pushing against a bruise. 

Molesley bothered him and he didn’t like it. It was itching under his skin. He took smoke into his lungs. Last night he told Molesley everything Baxter did — all the details he knew, he remembered them all and laid them out for the other man. Molesley he tried to appear calm, he tried to stay in defense of her, searching for excuses for her. but Thomas saw the doubt in his eyes, saw the man questioning if he knew Baxter at all. 

“Job, well done,” he said to himself as he lit another cigarette. But he was unsettled. Every time his path crossed Molesley’s Thomas found himself looking at hurt puppy. He looked shaken, taken aback and sad. He planned to needle Molesley with little stabs of the truth, rub salt in the wound make it hurt more. But the words never left his throat and he wasn’t sure why — he wanted Molesley hurt. He wanted him to pay for his part in making Thomas look a fool. 

The door opened behind him. He turned and it was Miss Baxter. He let out he lungful of smoke he’d been holding in. She stepped forward and she looked uneasy. “What are you doing out here?”

“You told him.”

“I did.”

“I wanted you too,” she said. 

He blinked. 

“I wasn’t strong enough to tell him. Telling her Ladyship was painful enough. I couldn’t admit to him not when he’d look at me with kind eyes.”

Thomas finished off the cigarette. He thought maybe he should feel angry at her. Like she used him somehow. But instead he felt deflated and confused. He pulled out the lighter, the stab of missing Jimmy hit his heart. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. 

“He’s making excuses for me.”

“He’s a kind person,” Thomas heard himself say and questioned his plan. What had he expected?

“He is.”

“I’m not,” Thomas said.

“You were, once,” she said. 

Thomas stiffened. 

“I’ve known you a long time, Thomas. I wanted you to tell him, I was a coward… but I hope this can make us even.” 

Thomas met her eyes and found himself nodding. 

She gave him a small smile, turned and walked away. 

~~~

_You were, once._

Thomas pulled out the lighter. He lit it and then put it out. Again and again. The plan failed. He gotten no satisfaction by putting that sad look behind Molesley’s eyes — it hurt instead. That was odd wasn’t it, to feel hurt at seeing pain you inflicted in someone else. He looked at his reflection on the surface of the lighter. His gray eyes were distorted but he saw sadness there. Maybe it was too close, to like how he felt and how he didn’t want to feel. 

He wanted to inflict a wound in retribution for a slight. He wanted to hurt Molesley. Briefly. He knew — he knows — they’ll work it out. Molesley will make his excuses for her and though she’ll tell him not too, she’ll allow it in the end. 

No one else knew her secret. 

He felt like he had hurt himself. 

He lit the lighter. 

_”Everyone keeps saying how awful you are.”_

_“Do they?”_

_“Of course the do — and you are. I see it.”_

_“Does it bother you?”_

_“No. I just wonder.”_

_“Wonder?”_

_“You’re always kind to me.”_

Thomas put out the lighter. 

_You were, once._

_You’re always kind to me._

Jimmy and Baxter’s words interweaving. Baxter talked about how long she’s known him. It was five years. He remembers that clear enough. It was five years. Five measly years of life — and maybe he’d been a kind ten year old, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen. Maybe, maybe not. She didn’t know what happened after she was gone. She missed his parents figuring out what he was, figuring out that he was different. She wasn’t witness to how two good parents turned into bad ones. 

His mother dragged him to Church every day. She told him to pray to be saved, so he could be like the other boys. A real boy, so he could be real man. She would slap him when he tried to get out going. She hit him and told him he’d burn in hell if he didn’t stop. She forced him to play sports, made his father teach him out to shoot. He has to be a real man, she would muttered. 

His father was worse. He stopped teaching Thomas about clocks. He stopped letting Thomas into the shop. That was until people started talking about it — then his mother made him let Thomas back in. But the lessons weren’t fun anymore. There was no father and son bonding. His father told him what to do, in a monotone, then left him alone. 

When he turned seventeen. They announced he was disowned because wouldn’t change. He wouldn’t be a real man. He couldn’t inherit the clock shop because he wasn’t their son. 

_You’re always kind to me._

All because he loved men. If he was ever nice, it was slapped out of him. If he was ever nice it was kicked out when he pushed out the door of his family home. If he was ever nice it was because his heart wanted something it could never have.


	3. Chapter 3

He woke. 

He worked. 

He slept. 

~~~

Thomas woke up before his alarm. His room dark. Gray was just edging into sight through the windows. He stared up the sky and breathed. It was just going to be another day. Another day of working hard to make the house run smoothly. To keep the Crawley’s happy. Carson happy. Not him though, nothing was ever to make Thomas happy. 

He sat up, rub a hand down his face. Stubble harsh agains the scars on his palm. He felt exhausted. He got up, feet on cold floor and started off his day like he always did. With shaving. He shaved carefully and slowly. Carson didn’t like nicks. Or any imperfection. Thomas agreed with him — at least at keeping up appearances. Look better than the other guy. Be better than the other guy. Don’t want to fuck the other guy. 

That last one wasn’t a problem for Carson. Not that it was currently a problem for Thomas. There were no men around he wanted to look at, least of all fuck. Yet his mind was constantly thinking about it. Thinking about men from his past. Philip. He didn’t even know where he was? Was he married with children? He could find out but that would be pointless. There was Derek. That was also years ago, and only a few nights in London. They never kept in touch. They got what they wanted. 

Wanted. Thomas forgot what getting that felt like. His mind went to Jimmy. It always went to Jimmy. Jimmy been the first thought he had when his eyes opened. And he remembers Jimmy been his last thought as he fell asleep — the fleeting memory of his lips pressed to his. He hadn’t thought about that errant kiss in ages. Not when he had Jimmy with him, by his side, as his friend. He never thought about it — it was in the past.

They never spoke of it. Not until they said goodbye. Not even then, not directly. Never. Why did he keep thinking about it now? Thomas said and started to rinse off his face. Then he cleaned up his razor. Brushed and pomaded his hair into it’s perfect part, into neatness. 

He looked in the mirror. He saw pale skin and hollow eyes. He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them. He saw his mask fallen into place. He wore it everyday and he knew it had cracks but no one saw through them. 

_“You miss her,” it wasn’t a question._

_“Who?”_

_“O’Brien.”_

_“I do not.”_

_“You do. I saw you look up when Alfred said he had a letter from her. You almost asked how she was doing. I noticed. He’ll tell you know, if you ask.”_

_“I don’t care how she’s doing.”_

_“Huh. I believe you there. But you wanted to ask anyway.”_

_“Old habit, I suppose.”_

_“How’s that?”_

_“Caring.”_

_“Even you, Mr. Barrow, are human.”_

 

It had to stop. He had to stop remembering snippets of conversation. Why had he filed them all way. Why had he gripped on so tightly they all stayed vivid and raw in his memory. Terror. That was why, terror. He knew. He knew every second they were friends it was borrowed time. 

Soon he’d have nothing. 

He started getting dressed. Made sure he was pristine, no wrinkles, no threads, nothing that Carson could point too to say he was getting sloppy. In fact it was a point of pride, Carson never turned to him and called him out on his appearance. He knew he looked pleasing.

“Only thing pleasing about me, if even that, to some people…” he muttered to himself as he did up his shoes. Polished perfectly. Not that anyone would look. He sat on his bed then. He was early. Too early. He should have tried to sleep more. But no it’d would’ve been fruitless. He’d been staring at the ceiling. Though all he had to do now was stare at the wall. 

He reached for it without thinking. But then there it was. In his hands. The London Magazine. He’d read it. Top to bottom. Many times. He hadn’t counted but he’d been aware each time it was one more than before. But he did it anyway. He flipped through it, telling himself he didn’t know where he was flipping toward.

But then it was there. _Choose Your Own Path_. Promises of a better life. A normal life. A good life. Promises that he could take what his life is and turn into something more. 

Acceptable.

He looked over at his mirror. He could see his face. His mask. 

Did it have to be?

~~~

He was on his second cup of tea, when Mr. Carson came in. Everyone rose up, but Carson motioned them back down into their seats. He had the morning post in his hands. Thomas watched him as he passed around envelopes. Hope spiking up inside of him, despite there being no reason too at all. If he was going to write, he would’ve written by now. 

Jimmy’s gone. 

The end.

He repeated it and wanted it to be true. It should be true, what did he have do to make it true? He swallowed more of his tea, pushed aside the pain that he felt unfairly hit him when he wasn’t handed a letter. It didn’t matter, it was all for the best. 

“Well, I best go check in the table before breakfast service,” he said, as he stood up from the table. The only person who paid him any mind was Carson. Who was nodding his head at Thomas in agreement. Do your job. He would. He was good at his job. It was at least one thing he wasn’t wrong at.

~~~

He sat down at the servants table. He pulled out his lighter. He growled away the thought of Jimmy that came with the action. He found he got past it faster by at least acknowledging it. Maybe soon he wouldn’t have to growl it away and all the questions that came with it. 

He never truly knew Jimmy. He inhaled smoke into his lungs, he pushed away the train of thought. He had enough. He had enough. He had memories he couldn’t forget. And the more he realized that the more he wished he could. But he pushed it all aside, he didn’t want to hear Jimmy’s voice in his head right now — he didn’t want to hear snippets of a conversation. 

He had a choice. It was his memory. It was his mind. He had a choice. 

Thomas sat and he smoked. He listened to the conversations around him. He interjected a few thoughts and opinions into the discussion the hall boys were having about the government. Though both the boys — and they were boys — dismissed his thoughts and went on with their own half formed and disorganized ones. He let it go, it wasn’t important, and he didn’t much care if they liked him. So he didn’t need to talk with them.

Miss Baxter came in and he watched her. He wasn’t sure of her, anymore, he wasn’t sure at all. He lost all power he had over her. His way of getting back at her had backfired. It turned around on him, because she felt relief at his meddling. Because Molesley really was her bloody knight in shining armor. 

Jealousy spiked through him. Then as if on cue the Bates’ walked into the room. Laughing, their bodies turn inward toward the other. It was the body language of lovers. He tapped his fingers against the table, his cigarette burning down. He watched it, the head of ash get bigger and bigger. He felt cold and alone. 

~~~

He was the last to go up. He checked and double checked everything. He went outside and smoked three cigarettes. Then he finally gave up the ghost and into the increasing urge to get out of the livery. It really was stifling by the end of a day. A long, never-ending, boring day with nothing to lift it up. 

He started unbuttoning on his way down the hall. Rushed into his door, pulling his jacket off his shoulders. He wanted to just toss it all into heap in the corner. But he could’t. He wouldn’t. So he took every piece off. One at a time and neatly put it away. Neatly folded. Neatly dealt with it all. It all it’s chosen spaces and his chosen organization. 

He stripped down bare. 

Then he laid down on his cot. Stared out the window. Saw stars and wondered when the last time he was awed by them? Was he ever? Had he ever been? As a kid? A man? He couldn’t remember so it seemed unlikely. Wasn’t one supposed to find them awing?

He closed his eyes. 

Jimmy came immediately to mind. His shoulders, his hands, his mouth. His voice even, so ever present, because Thomas had memorized every moment. But what he was seeing now, never happened. Never would’ve. Couldn’t have. Jimmy would never wrap his hand around Thomas’s cock, Jimmy would never stroke it up and down, pulling at his skin, tightening his grip just right. His tongue would never dart out and taste his pre-come. Jimmy’s mouth would never wrap around the head of him. 

Thomas groaned. His hand moved faster and his mind told him it was Jimmy’s mouth. His hips arched up, off the bed, into Jimmy’s mouth, wet and hot and perfect. Thomas shook his head, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t — but he too lost to care. It felt perfect in his mind, it was perfect, it was the fantasy. Perfected over year of knowing Jimmy; acquaintance, enemy, friend. 

He came it all rushed out of him. His mind became beautifully blank and he just breathed for a long time. Not thinking, just floating really, until his thoughts started to intrude again. Before reality reminded him, he was alone in his bed. 

Alone and cold. 

He got up. He cleaned up. He put on his pajamas and laid back down. Staring up at stars he felt nothing for. He sighed. It had to stop. He had to stop this. He was gone, he had to stop coming to thoughts of him. But he more than one fantasy and he hadn’t been able to stop when Jimmy was in his life daily. How could he stop now?

He felt like he had no choice. He was slammed into this. He was stuck being this. He was stuck with a wall between him and the world. A mask he had to wear to pretend he was like everyone. But no one really bought it did they? Because everyone figured it out. They figured out what sort of man, Thomas really was.

He had the magazine. He was reading the page again. He didn’t remember grabbing it. He had no idea how long he was holding it. All he knew was he after reading everything else on the pages over again for well over the hundredth time. He was looking at the phone number. 

“No.” 

He started shaking. He shook his head. He flung the magazine away. Then he kicked down the covers, pushed his legs underneath them. Turned to his side, punched his pillow and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. 

~~~

He woke up before his alarm.

The day started over again. 

It ended the same.


	4. Chapter 4

Thomas tracked Carson hand as he passed out envelopes to everyone at breakfast. He watched the man bypass him as he handed Miss Baxter a letter. He hated himself, why had his heart hammered with hope? It was futile wasn’t it. It was pathetic. He focused on his food, though he couldn’t taste it. He wasn’t hungry but he told himself he needed the fuel. 

He had a long day of standing to get through. 

_“They’re comfortable.”_

_“What are?”_

_“All that overstuffed overrated furniture upstairs.”_

No. No. 

_“You should….”_

Thomas rose to his feet too quickly, he jostled and everyone grabbed for their tea. Mr. Carson pinned him with a scolding glare but Thomas looked at him like he wasn’t there. He really wasn’t. None of them were. No one was there he wanted to see. He offered no apology, but they wouldn’t expect one, and he felt no guilt. He had more important things to deal with. He had more important things to not think about. 

He stalked out of the room. Quickly. Practically running. Though, he couldn’t run. He couldn’t run at all. Jimmy’s voice was inside of him. It rested in his chest along with his foolish hope. But he told himself. He told himself he would not spend another day with random conversations rushing through his skull. Bringing Jimmy back to him for the merest of seconds only to yank him away again when he realized they were a reverie. 

_“I had this dream.”_

“I don’t care,” Thomas spat out. 

~~~

He watched them put together the radio. Lady Rose was hovering over the entire process, entranced and excited. Her energy was effecting everyone around her. In some way or the other. Carson was disgusted. Mrs. Hughes seemed delighted — though Thomas thought idly that might have more to do with Carson. But he thought no further on it, it didn’t make him the least bit curious. Daisy and Mrs. Patmore came up to look at it, Daisy excited and Mrs. Patmore confused and eyeing it like it might be witchcraft. 

Everyone had an opinion and a thought. 

Thomas watched it all and wondered why he didn’t care. A part of thought he might care — maybe. Shouldn’t he be interested into the bits of it, the parts of the radio that make it all work. That brings the music over radio waves into the Abbey? Shouldn’t he find that interesting, wires and cogs and parts. All moving for one reason all together — like a clock? Was it like a clock? Why didn’t he care?

He turned and walked down the servants hall. It was empty and he was happy. He lit a cigarette, sat down in the rocking chair and pulled up the paper. 

_“Imagine it, jazz right in your own room?”_

“I don’t care,” Thomas murmured and silenced the memory. 

~~~

They heard the king. And static. Thomas found he didn’t care. He didn’t care at all. But he saw the smiles and the questions brought out from experiencing something new and thought maybe he wished he could care. Could care about a radio and the sound of their King’s voice coming out of its speakers as if by magic. But not magic. Engineering. Something like clocks but not. But he didn’t care. He noted it again. 

He walked down with the others but he was very much alone. They all went one direction and he want the other. As always. He leaned against the mantle and lit a cigarette. 

“Cheer up, Mr. Barrow. Weren’t you pleased hear the King?” Anna came from around the corner. 

He continued on with his cigarette. 

“I expect it’s difficult for you with Jimmy gone?”

Jimmy. He managed a whole twenty minutes — maybe. He wonders if maybe it was only five, or two, or no time at all… Either way he’d had a tiny space of time when the other man wasn’t the main thought all his others revolved around. 

“We all need a special friend, from time to time,” Anna continued. 

“I wasn’t special to him. Not truly.” 

“I don’t agree. I think he liked you.”

Hope pounded in his chest. It was bright and loud. “Maybe. A little.” He inhaled smoked from his cigarette, trying to drive out the thought Jimmy cared. He didn’t care. “I don’t think I’m very likeable to people here.”

“Do you want to be?” 

She sounded surprised and thought she would be. If she knew. He focused on his cigarette in his fingers for brief moment and answered her truthfully. “There are times when I’d like to belong,” he laughed at hearing the words. “Does that sound funny?” 

“Not to me. Not at all.” Anna looked right him and there wasn’t judgement. Thomas wanted to be angry at her concern but he couldn’t bring himself to be. He was touched in a way but he was happy — for once — to see Bates. He walked into the room and thus ended his moment with Anna. Thomas moved to the table, sat down, blowing out smoke through his nose. 

The truth was stinging him. It was hurting him. Beside the flash of hope at the thought Jimmy maybe liked him — even a little — it was the only thing he felt all day. In days. Weeks? Years? He didn’t know. He felt so empty and lost. Pushing away memories, hating himself for flashes of hope whenever the post came, or Anna’s polite words. 

He wished to belong. His deep dark secret. He buried every time it rose up. Told himself the world would have to take Thomas Barrow as he was born. Why should he twist himself for others? Why shouldn’t they twist for him? The world hated him and he always thought it was for no good reason. So he hated the world, lashed out where he saw any attitude against him. 

It was lonely. Though. His road. 

~~~

“And Mr. Barrow,” Carson said, holding out the last letter in his hand.

Thomas grabbed it and hated how his heart was pounding. It took so little for hope to bubble up in his chest. He hated himself for it because his head told him the truth. It’s not from him. He won’t write. He’s gone. _The end_ , Thomas. _The end_. The Golden Era of Jimmy Kent had faded away into the emptiness that was the companion of his current days. 

He looked at the note. Telling himself he was fine with finding out it wasn’t from Jimmy. He wasn’t even surprised to see who it was from. It was his sister. It was the monthly missive she sent him. He stared at her blockish writing and shook his head. 

“Who is it from?” 

He looked across the table at Miss Baxter.

“Hazel, if you must know.”

“I hope she’s well.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“Who is this?” Molesley asked.

Thomas put the letter in his inside jacket pocket and focused on his food. 

“Hazel, Thomas’ sister. We were friends growing up.”

“Were you close?”

“For awhile,” Baxter said. “We haven’t spoken in…”

“What was it, three years?” Thomas heard himself spit out. He hadn’t meant too, he really hadn’t. But he didn’t want to talk about family. He didn’t want to talk about Baxter knowing him while he was growing up. The flare of anger surprised him. Everything been so numb. But then that was thing of it wasn’t it. Hope. Anger. It was absolute in it’s fleeting brilliance and then it was gone again. Leaving him with nothing. 

~~~

He had a ritual with letters from his sister. He’d throw it on the bed as he got undressed. Then he’d pick up the letter and pull out his lighter. Defiance, usually flashed through him as he lit it — this time was different though. He felt nothing. He was doing it by rote. There was no small wave of defiance that he found he couldn’t go through with. He dropped the lighter on his bed. Than sat down on its edge and opened her letter.

He always did. He never really wanted too. Hazel wasn’t writing because she missed him. She wasn’t writing because she wanted him in her life. She wasn’t defying their father’s orders to have no contact with him because it was right. No it was obligation to their mother — the mother who disowned him — and nothing more. As always the letter was one page long. It talked about her husband, the kids, apparently his niece Esther was doing well in spelling. Thomas rolled his eyes. He put the letter back in the envelope. 

It was time for second ritual of futility. He walked over to where his garbage can sat by his table. He held the card over it. He told himself to drop it. Drop it and be done with it. He wasn’t going to write her back. He never did. She wasn’t worth letters. 

But never could throw them away. So he walked to his bureau and pulled out the box hidden in the false bottom he made. He pulled out a bundle of letters tied with a yellow ribbon. He put it on the top of others. He sighed and closed to door. Wondering why, after years, he keep saving letters that basically just said the same thing over and over. Her writing to him was pointless. She never said anything. 

Yet he kept them.

He went back to his bed. Grabbed the London Magazine and flipped it open. It was becoming a new ritual. He wasn’t sure why he kept doing it. He read it over and over again. He knew it by heart. He knew the number by heart. He closed his eyes but when he opened them the advertisement stared back at him. 

_“Did you…. Ever try to choose not too be?”_

“No, but I wonder….”


	5. Chapter 5

“Ah, there you are Mr. Barrow.” Molesley blinked at him as if it was a shock to find him outside and smoking. 

Thomas aimed at his face and blew out the lungful of smoke in his lungs. Molesley stepped away from it but remained staring at Thomas. 

“Were you looking for me, or discover me by mistake, Mr. Molesley?”

“What? No. I mean, yes. There is someone on the phone for you.”

Thomas dropped his cigarette and flattened it into the dirt. He pushed past Molesley and made his way to Carson’s office. He hadn’t expected a call back to happen so quickly. They told him they would contact when they had an opening and he’d gotten the impression it would take longer than half a day. 

He stepped into Carson’s office, closed the door behind him and picked up the phone. “Hello? Um, this is Thomas Barrow.”

“This is Emma from Choose Your Own Path, we have a slot open for new clients. Since it was a cancellation it is rather short notice.”

“I see.”

“Two days from now, at 7 am. It’s early I know, but the process is lengthy.”

Thomas licked his lips, he felt parched suddenly and his mind was spinning. “Two days?”

“Yes.”

“How… how long is the wait otherwise?”

“Oh, it could be weeks, sir.”

Impatience coursed through him, no he couldn’t wait, he couldn’t. He’d made this choice, this decision, he was taking control of his life. He chosen to do this and he wasn’t waiting to make it happen. He wasted years going in the wrong direction. Now he was heading in the right one and he would forge head quickly. 

“I’ll be there. Two days?”

“Yes. Do you have the address?”

“No,” he found a pen and paper on Carson’s desk. 

“It’s at…” she spouted out an address and reminded him of the time. “Remember to bring change of clothes and expect to spend the night with us.”

He needed water, he licked his dry lips again. “How long is the process?” 

“It really depends, sir.”

“On?” 

“The individual. If you’re certain and face things head on, it can be quick and painless.”

He grimaced. “I see.”

“It’s about you, really, you see.”

“Well, then… for those who are certain, the ballpark?”

“Oh…well…a week.”

Thomas clenched his jaw. 

“You are sure, sir?”

“Yes. Yes. I’m certain. I just have to make arrangements with my employers.”

“Okay. And remember we need your payment upon arrival. Good day, Mr. Barrow.”

“Are you quite done,” Carson yelled, bursting into his pantry, glaring at Thomas on the phone.

“I am, sir. Thank you,” Thomas walked past Mr. Carson and straight to the kitchen. He found himself a glass and filled it with water. 

“Are you okay, Thomas?” Daisy shot him a concern look as she darted from one side of the kitchen to the other. 

“I’m fine Daisy.”

“You look pale.”

“He always looks pale, Daisy. Get to cutting those beans. You get out of my kitchen.”

Thomas swallowed the rest of his water. He felt Daisy wide eyes on him and he looked at her an have her a small smile. 

She nodded at him and went back to work.

He left the kitchen before Mrs. Patmore started yelling again. He didn’t understand why he was shaking, or why his heart was pounding. This was what he wanted. It would make everything better and he shouldn’t have fought the idea for so long. 

His inclinations were unnatural. Mr. Carson had once said he’d been twisted. Twisted and foul. If he could undo that knot at the core of him everything would change. He’d stop wanting things he could never have. 

_“You aren’t like other people….”_

“Will be…” he whispered, quieting the memory. He wanted no more of that memory. Or any memory of Jimmy. He shoved at it. He was thankful they were lessening. Maybe soon he would stop thinking about Jimmy all together. 

Because he’d stop wanting the things he shouldn’t have. 

Thomas ran his hands over his face and took a few deep breaths. He had to come with a plan. He had to get away from the house for at least a week. He had to leave at the latest tomorrow morning. He’d think on it as he went about the rest of his days. There were nothing better for thinking than the mundane details of an Under butler’s job. 

 

~~~

“Are you staying with your sister?” Miss Baxter asked. 

Thomas looked up at her. “What does it matter?”

“I’m just curious.”

“Why?”

“Miss her, I suppose…” Miss Baxter looked down at her sewing. 

“Why?” Thomas asked before he thought better of it. Why did he care.

“Why? We were good friends.”

Thomas shrugged. 

“She misses you.”

Thomas snorted. 

“She would mention you in her letters from time to time. Wondering how you were, if you were okay…”

“Funny, she never asks those questions in her letters to me.”

“You do read them, then?” Miss Baxter looked triumphant. 

“Why does that please you so much?”

“It’s nice to see you care.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care at all.” He stalked out of the room, his heart pounding. He should have come up with a better lie. He should have shut down that conversation before it started. He didn’t want to think about his family. 

He didn’t want to wonder if they would open door for him. After the treatment. Would they pleased he realized he was wrong and went about to fix it? Would he be allowed in the clock shop? Would his mother look him in the eye? 

No. 

No.

They didn’t get him back. No. No, he wasn’t doing this for anyone else’s peace of mind. Only for his. For him. He was exhausted. The emptiness was too vast.

~~~

He looked up and down the street. It was empty, it being so early in the morning. Fog and drizzle were the main facts his brain ascertained. And cheap apartments. Rats on the ground. It was a part of London he didn’t know and he felt he didn’t want to know it. It seemed dirty.

He looked up and down the street again. Then at the door. It had the right numbers on it. He was on the right street. He wanted to turn around. He watched a rat cross the street and go into a hole, underneath the building he was meant to walk into.

 _Turn around_.

He shook his head. 

_Turn around._

It was the voice that told him he wasn’t foul. It was the voice that insisted to him he wasn’t twisted. It was the voice that whispered at him kiss a Duke. That told him meet men in bars and have trysts in alleys. It was the voice that told him it was him the world should get used to… It was the voice that had sent him to Jimmy’s room. 

It led him up and down. Good and bad. But it was always him, alone. 

Thomas squared his shoulders and opened the door. The foyer was white and clean. He saw the words **Choose Your Own Path** in black on a door. He read them and nodded. His life was his choice, he nodded and opened the door. 

Inside he saw two other men sitting on flimsy chairs. They both stood up at his entrance and looked around. They looked jumpy and seeing them made Thomas jumpy. He tried not to notice what they looked like but he did anyway. One was old and fat and the other was around his age and handsome. 

Handsome.

He had to stop thinking those things. 

Thomas then saw a secretary at a desk. She was smiling at him and waving him over. 

“Welcome to Choose Your Own Path, do you have an appointment?”

“Yes, uh.. Thomas Barrow.”

“Ah, yes. Well, take a seat and they’ll be with you soon.”

Thomas turned and saw down as far away as he could from the other two men. His legs bounced and he kept checking his watch. Impatience making him irritable. He was shaking and he felt a bit sweaty. He never been nervous like this before in his life. 

But then he was changing his entire life. 

_“I hope you find some happiness. I do, truly.”_


End file.
